


Just Like Heaven...

by Punk_in_Docs



Series: Along Came Benedict: The Ben and Libby Saga... [4]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Comedy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anxious?” he smiled into her ear, close to her neck.</p>
<p>“…Is one of the many emotions I am feeling at present…” she admitted. “Ben just show me where we are… please!” she begged, hearing him chuckle before the blindfold was ripped away. And she saw what stood in front of her. </p>
<p>And her jaw hit the floor when she discovered what ‘it’ was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alarm Clocks and Tales of Time...

 

It was one particular harsh, short, clipped and sharp cry of Libby’s own name that whisked her away from the comforts of a spectacularly vivid yet wondrous dream. In which she was busy enjoying her wedding night after marrying a young Billy Idol, in Barbados, wearing doc martens, and having perfect hair and much longer legs. But, as her name was called in a terse cry, her brow wrinkled and she was pulled back into the unsatisfying throes of reality. In her bedroom, in the burrow of Shepard’s Bush, London, still single, with hair that rivalled a lion’s mane at times and legs that were stubby and were, in her own opinion, embarrassingly short, and fat.

 

She groaned – a deeply unhappy please-leave-me-alone sound, which came out more as a grumble as her face was pressed sideways into her pillow, her hair thrown over her face as her results of tossing and turning in the night. She snuffled her cheek against the pillow – feeling the slight damp patch where she had drooled in the night – oh how she wished she could be the perfect specimen of petite and polite female decorum, and wake up looking like a Neutrogena add with great skin, pearly white teeth and breath fresher than roses. In reality, her morning breath could halt a charging rhino at fifty yards, and she looked like an extra from the black swamp.

 

Her frown slowly decreased as she realised she may also have been dreaming about the angered male voice that was shouting her name, but as a large hand gripped her shoulder and shook her – that dwindling hope died in her stomach as she realised she was being shouted awake.

 

She grumbled, again – louder this time, twisting her head from where it laid, blinking open bleary and sleep crusted eyes to see the blurry but familiarly definable shape of her best friend Benedict stood over her bed.

 

“Come on, out of bed, get up! Now!”

 

“You better be fatally injured and bleeding to death, and or dying…”

 

She groaned in complaint. Lobbing a pillow at the insensitive bastard - who dodged it remarkably easily as her aim wasn’t yet sharpened, whereas his were awake and aware, able to avoid oncoming flung objects from his angered friend. She twisted under her covers to stab her hand blindly onto her bedside table, groping for the familiar bulk of an object that was her alarm clock. She found it and let her unguarded and light sensitive eyes sweep over the arrangement of hands on the clock face.

 

Now bolstered and strengthened by a newfound burst of energy and anger, she twisted back and shoved the clock into Benedict’s awaiting face.

 

“It’s ten to seven.”

 

She growled in a voice that was either whining or angered, he couldn’t quite tell. Her facial features were hard to distinguish from her curtain of mussed and knotted hair. All her knew was that her blue eyes were stormy and angry like the trashing depths of a storming blue ocean, and they were burning into him with such vengeful hatred that he wouldn’t put it past her to try and suffocate him with a pillow right where he stood.

 

“Yes, I’m so relieved you know how to tell time. Now, come on, up.”

 

“It’s ten to seven…” she reinforced angrily.

 

“...Well, its five to now, actually, you’ve taken so long to rouse.” He chided with a cruel smirk. Battering his lashes sweetly at her.

 

He stepped to the side to circumvent the small alarm clock that sailed dangerously close past his ear in a sweeping arc, if she got any more awake, then, he noted with trepidation, her aim might not be so inaccurate.

 

“It’s five to seven on a Saturday morning!”

 

She growled, throwing the covers back over herself and falling back onto her back.

 

Benedict, not to be deterred, hooked his fingers under her thick duvet and tugged. She growled, a deeply disturbed and unhappy sound as she felt the cool air of her bedroom hit her.

 

“I meant what I said about finding new friends….” She snarled.

 

“Now now, put those claws away, Miss Turner. I happen to have a big surprise for you…”

 

Benedict chided playfully with a promise. Stooping down to the bed so her was crouched on his knees, proceeding to prod her in the stomach, then, when she slapped his hand away, he moved down to her thigh, and unrelentingly jabbed her in the side of her leg until she groaned, she was doing a lot of that this morning, tugging her legs over the bed and stretching to stand up. Benedict smiled as he won his battle as the sweet victor.

 

As she stood and moaned whilst she stretched, her thin white cotton t-shirt rode up over her back, baring the faintest peep of her pale skinned spine as it curved, aswell as the scantest glimpse of the lacy band of her underwear that peered over the back of her grey jack wills sweatpants. He wasn’t expecting that sight to send a flare of heat through his blood, settling low in his groin, but nonetheless, it did.

 

“I’ll be back up in five minutes, and I expect to find you dressed and ready, otherwise I will withhold your habitual cup of tea to ransom.”

 

This received him a scathing and cursory glance from the stunning blue eyes that were still beaming in hatred at him. Which he met with a cheeky wink and a pouting air kiss. Before he vanished across the doorframe and over the landing, she heard his soft shoes clatter down the spiral stairs and tread to the kitchen. Ben quickly carried himself downstairs gratefully, if he had to witness her changing, he rather favoured his blood would boil over with heat, and he would do something about the rather raging flaming feeling in his gut and his veins.

 

“Ugh.” She groaned to herself “happy morning bastard.” She grumbled. Mind, she was glad it was Ben, he was less of a morning person than her other best friend, one Mr Tom Hiddleston, who just naturally seemed incapable of sleeping in past 8am. But, she thought in a side subtext, she loved that about him, it was nice to see he attacked every waking day with the same inspiring and enthusiastic spirit, with which he pursued everything in his life.

 

But, on the other hand, that enthusiasm wasn’t quite so admirable when he – had on one occasion, and _just_ on that one occasion as it was _never_ to be repeated so long as he wanted to remain in the land of the living - been jostling her awake at 4am to get in a jog before the gym, bounding up and down on the spot at the end of her bed encouraging her awake even though it was still dark outside. She shuddered with distain remembering how he had forced her into running gear and dragged her deadweight frame to Hyde Park for a morning run along the Serpentine. Tom, being the fitness god he was, breezed through the jog as if he had simply had to run nonchalantly after a bus, Libby, on the other hand, although physically being very fit and sort of on the slender side, looked like she had just run up Kilimanjaro whilst pulling a ten tonne weight behind her, a red faced, panting slow and tired wreck, when compared to the twiggy frame of the thespian who barely broke into a sweat. She spent the remainder of that long painful week after on her sofa with ice packs on her straining sore calf muscles, cursing Tom’s name, and vowing that if he ever dragged her to go running with him again then she would most definitely be forced to kill him slowly with her only weapon of choice being a cheese grater.

 

Libby stretched then stumbled lazily on yet unawaken legs into her walk in, feet padding over the carpet as she slumped and growled and slouched, trying to locate those new-fangled things called clothes, hastily summoning the strength to pull them on her body in the correct order. She did out her head through the armhole of her jumper more than once, and she early tripped over as both her legs found themselves in one leg hole of her jeans.

 

She eventually got herself into a respectable – albeit unhappy – state of clothes. Which consisted of an un-ironed and ironically, Billy Idol concert t shirt that was yonks’ old, aswell as a black leather jacket and thick steel toe capped DM’s with spikes on them, so she could bludgeon Ben if he got really chirpy and annoying. She decided she would let her hair do its thing, a messy tangle of tousled reddy brown curls that she had managed to tame and tease somewhat into civility with a hairbrush, letting the short bob curl down just past her ears and halfway down her neck. Her face was devoid of makeup as she didn’t trust herself not to do any permanent damage with a mascara brush as she was so drowsy and not yet fully awake. So, for the safety of her eyesight, she let herself free of any cosmetics this morning.

 

She trudged carelessly down the stairs and into her kitchen, to see Benedict leaned over the counter, lips wrapped around a mug as he drank down tea opposite her, pausing as he saw her enter the doorway looking no more awake than before, but with clothes on this time. He did open his mouth to chastise her when he saw the lethal looking spiked black boots on her feet, but had an attack of conscience when he realised any complaint from him would be met with a savage kick to somewhere rather delicate with those boots if he did – and they looked like they could break skin – so he kept his mouth shut and slid a cooling cup of tea across the counter to her in a travel mug. Which she gratefully took a large sip of, she rarely made sense before her first cup of tea in the morning, he learnt that the hard way from their Uni days. Facing the sheer wrath of her before she was caffeinated, took a brave man indeed to face up to such a challenge.

 

As she sipped her tea, he examined her slyly, liking every little bit of what he saw. She hadn’t bothered with any make up today, he noticed, but that didn’t even hinder how wonderful she looked. She had such nice natural pale skin, and when make-up wasn’t dusted across her skin, he could freely admire the constellation of faint freckles scattered across her nose and her cheeks, aswell as the slightly dark circles under her eyes that was a family trait – so she claimed – and as her lashes weren’t coated in mascara, they looked fainter and lighter in the barely there morning light of her kitchen window, that blazed over her where she stood. He felt a sharp tug at his stomach as he realised his love for her was so much more than skin deep, and he wanted to bare every part of himself to her. Every secret of his, every fear, every little thing that made him laugh, he wanted her to know limitless details of his character in exchange for hers – not that they knew nothing – they knew each other inside out, but, that suddenly didn’t seem good enough. He wanted all of her in every way. He wanted her there when he woke up, and when he flopped into bed at night, she would be the only one who ever felt right in his arms and by his side. His smile only felt sincere and completely unguarded when she caused it, his laugh only sounded funny to his ears when she caused the noise to startle out of him so easily. And every look from her set his insides to flames, as if her eyes meeting with his, struck a match in his gut, burning him and branding him so as he knew without a doubt that he had fallen deep in love with her. And he showed no signs of ever getting up…

 

He couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened exactly. He could have loved her from the moment they met 16 years ago, the second their eyes locked for the first time. Leaving him to wonder how he ever survived without her. Or, he could have fallen in love with her from the way he began to notice how she smiled, or laughed. The captivation could have been slow, and building, or it could have been instantaneous, he wasn’t sure. But he knew he didn’t care. He only knew he never wanted to stop. Partly because of the driving heat in his gut, and partly because he knew her so unfailingly well all contributed to the reason he had dragged her out of bed this early, because he knew he had a surprise she would love.

 

“Ready?”

 

He asked, smiling at her adorable cranky sleepiness, seeing her cradle the hot drink in her hands. She nodded, pleased that the tea in her hands was warming her into consciousness.

 

“It better be worth it, Batch…”

 

She yawned, crossing to the hall and wrapping a long grey wool scarf around her neck, capturing the ends of her red hair in its woollen coils. It was still early November in London, and that bite of cold in the air still chased peskily after those who didn’t dress weather appropriate in the numbing cold of late autumn.

 

He smiled in smirking conformation, walking out after her, and shutting her front door behind them both.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As if this morning couldn’t get any more bizarre, as soon as they got in the back of the cab they flagged down, Benedict reached over and linked a tie around her eyes and tied it tight around the back of her head.

 

“Ok, should I be alarmed, or?...” she asked with hesitation

 

Benedict slapped her hands away as she tried to fumble with the blindfold. She withdrew her hands quickly, feeling unsettled and very confused.

 

“Just shush and trust me.” He chided, levelling it across the bridge of her nose.

 

“Oh yes, of course, because the automatic response to a strangely excited man shaking you awake and then blindfolding you in the back of a cab, is in fact, trust…” she joked, touching the back of her head where the tie was knotted.

 

Benedict’s blood warmed again when he found she smiled, her lovely plump lips tugging upwards into a barely there smile. Seeing the well-known dimples he loved form in her cheeks, in such a way that made him want to explore them with the tip of his tongue, before moving down to those lips that had been plaguing his dreams and which he spent the last few months wanting to kiss. And he could do that right now, he realised, he could hold the back of her head with one hand and kiss her. _Hard_. Mapping out her lips with his see what made her sigh, giggle, or arch of moan. See that wonderful blush scatter across his cheeks and know, wholeheartedly that he was the cause. It was so downright tempting, but he couldn’t do it. Maybe one day, in a few weeks, or months, at three in the morning after he dreamt of her again, or at seven o’clock at night as she idly appeared in his thoughts, and he could rush to her door and pray she was at home so he could just _tell her_ before this suffocated him. He didn’t know why he wanted to wait, he only knew that was what he wanted to do.

 

He sighed, seeing her follow the sound with her ears. His eyes still fixated on her lips as she spoke again.

 

“Ben? You ok?” she asked with curiosity.

 

“Never better.” He lied, rasping in hidden agony.

 

They spent the reminder of the ten minute cab ride in silence, Benedict looking out of the window watching the familiar street near her house, in Hampton court place, just off the Chelsea Bridge road. Libby, watching the inside of Ben’s Alexander McQueen silk tie.

When the cab purred up to a cab, coming to a stop, Libby found her arm circled in ben’s wide hand, as he tugged her by the elbow out of the cab, she quickly stumbled to her feet, and followed the tall man’s striding gait as he walked, those long legs covering ground quicker than her own. She had to partially trot in her clunky DM’s after him. Eyes still obscured by the tie. She had to rely completely on Bens senses to stop her running into oncoming traffic.

 

“Ok, you will warn me if I accidentally stumble into the path of an approaching bus, won’t you…” she asked with hesitation.

 

She heard Ben’s richly throated and deep dark chuckle echo somewhere to her left. She heard him mumble a polite thank-you to the cabbie as he handed over a fare, and shut the door after her.

 

“Or is that you’re dastardly plan? To push me into a road? Or the Thames?” she asked,

 

She sware, she knew ben so well, she could practically feel his response. A slow small smile, coupled with the rolling of his eyes as his hands landed squarely on her shoulders and he steered her in front of him.

 

“Shut up would you? Keep that tongue tamed and silent for once in your life.” He smiled, steering her over uneven ground that felt suspiciously like a cobblestoned pathway.

 

“Oh, I see.” She relented, not giving in to his pleas for silence. “Firing squad is it? Spare me of life quickly. Sharp and sweet death.” She hollered dramatically, arms flailing as they took a sharp left.

 

She swore she could _hear_ Ben rolling his eyes at her.

 

“Where are you taking me? And, I love you dearly, but if your fantasies have suddenly taken a very kinky turn, and this involves me indulging some form of sexual abduction fantasy… I’ll say it now. These boots were made for kicking, and I will not hesitate to start with you…”

 

She growled, pointing an accusing finger over shoulder at where she thought he was behind her. Benedict ignored the way his groin tightened at the thought. He took deep breath and encouraged her up a couple of steps.

 

“Will you keep your mouth shut for a second? There are children and families around you, not the appropriate time to be spewing out about sexual fantasies…” he chided with a smile, whispering into her ear so she felt his hot breath, and it made her tingle with hotness. Mind that fabulously dark deep voice of his, when purring any words into your ear with scorching breath would make an abstinent nun swoon…

 

“Children, ok, that’s a clue. You’re abandoning me? Putting me up for adoption?” she accused, eyebrows raising as she guesses.

 

“Why would I ever want to give you away?” he muttered sweetly so she could hear him.

 

She smiled.

 

“Aw, ok. Now tell me where we are…” Libby urged. Ben smiled, her spectrum of patience and tolerance was famously short.

 

Ben guided her to a standstill, placing her hands on her shoulders to ground her. Keeping her unmoving as his hands worked at the knot at the back of her head. Untying it quickly, he held it where it was for a moment, leaning in so he could whisper some more in her ear.

 

“Anxious?” he smiled into her ear, close to her neck.

 

“…Is one of the many emotions I am feeling at present…” she admitted. “Ben just show me where we are… please!” she begged, hearing him chuckle before the blindfold was ripped away. And she saw what stood in front of her.

 

And her jaw hit the floor when she discovered what ‘it’ was.

 

Because it was a creaky and peeling old shop. A tall towering place that looked like it would be more at home in Diagonn alley. It stood wonderfully tall and rickety, squeezed into a little arcade alleyway of shops. The front had large windows before it carved away in a large V shape. Never mind the fact that the bare windows were boarded up with newspaper covering them, and the once turquoise paint was a dirty greyish blue and peeling like a sunburnt British person in Alicante. It was old, rickety, and grand, and all it needed was a bit of loving attention. And as Benedict then dangled a small golden key in his long fingers front of her eyes, she clasped it in her hand and got an awfully uncanny sense who it know belonged to…

 

“You didn’t…” she spoke in a low, impossible voice.

 

“Oh but I did.”

 

Benedict smiled, lapping up the sight of her speechless with eagerness, hands in his pockets as he stood behind her. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a Muppets t-shirt, with faded jeans and worn converse on his feet. Looking like he was remarkably pleased with himself.

 

“You…” she breathed, pointing to the old shop behind them.

 

“I know you always said you wanted to be more than just a book author and illustrator, and you always talked about finding a worn down old place and turning it into a bookshop, and, I saw this place, and, it was dirt cheap by the way, and Not for any bad reason! It just needs redecorating and a bit of DIY and TLC, I had it checked over by an estate agent, it was checked for mould and damp, and given a great review from a contractor, who said it’s in neglect but otherwise perfect shape. But, I fell in love with it, I saw it and it screamed you, the place you’ve hunted for ever since you arrived in London. So, there you have it….” Benedict motioned with a nod of his head to the shop front behind them.

 

When he turned back to Libby, he found tears starting in her eyes, and a hand over her mouth as she smiled.

 

“You bought this, for me?” she clarified, still in obvious shock.

 

“You’re quite an investment. Worth every penny. Libs.” He whispered softly.

 

He then found she ran full pelt into his arms, hoisting herself up around his shoulders, smiling, laughing or crying, he couldn’t tell, but he pulled her closer wrapping his arms around her waist as she hugged him, peppering kisses all over his face as he screwed his eyes shut and laughed.

 

He found her was still holding her like that, his hands holding her under her thighs with her legs crossed over his hips as she looked down on his face with her arms around his neck.

 

“You spent you’re hard earned Hollywood money on me, I…” she seemed incapable of speech. Which, considering her usual motor mouth habits was quite an unimaginable feat on his end, he thought.

 

“I spent my hard earned Hollywood money on someone besides me, because I wanted too. I’ve got more than a few penny’s rotting away in my bank account, so I’m told – so I think a small property holding would make little difference to that…” he explained.

 

“But you didn’t have too…” she spoke, smiling in a shocked fashion. Stroking the side of his neck with her hand.

 

“No, **_I_** wanted too.” He emphasised.

 

“And because I love seeing you happy…” he smiled, examining her face lovingly.

 

What he was not expecting, however, was her to lean forwards and place a quick lippy smooch to his own lips by way of a thank you. His whole body stiffened, and far earlier than he would’ve liked, she pulled away, a familiar warmth that she always got around Benedict, pooling low in her stomach. Her eyes were gleaming with love at him.

 

“Come on...” she hopped down from his arms, and walked up to the door.

 

“I want a peek inside…” she exclaimed happily, walking up and sliding the key in the door.

 

Benedict watched after her, dazed, but slowly with a smile returning to his lips before he followed her inside.

 

Honest to god, from the bottom of his heart, he really did love making her happy.

 


	2. Happiness, Lavender Baths and Black Dresses...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we witness just what can happen when unrequited love is on the cards, that, and where it cold possibly lead... Cue some dirty thoughts from dear Ben...

 

 

After Libby had finished thanking Ben profusely, with hugs and kisses on the cheek, she insisted upon Lunch at their favourite Chinese place to thank him, and to celebrate. Ben was happy just seeing her so delighted, elated by the opportunity for her new business venture, she insisted upon making him a business investor, and would not let him decline profits from said business when it was up and running. He watched with a silent smile as she couldn’t stop smiling, like she had slept with a hanger in her mouth, rambling excitedly in a very girly way about how excited she was, pausing every so often to clasp his hand across the table top, smiling and thanking him yet again. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this unfalteringly happy. She also told him she was buying him dinner later, to again, repay him for all he had done for her. A tiny and satanic voice of mischief in his head told him she could thank him with a snog if she really wanted too, but Ben silenced the voice, ignoring it and focusing on his noodle soup. Happy to revel and marvel at her in the aura of her joy.

 

They had agreed they would go out for dinner in Chinatown, near Leicester Square, as she had agreed to attend a posh art gallery opening just around the corner from there, it was a friend of a friend off a friend kind of Invite, so she persisted on dragging Ben with her, stating they would only have to stay for ten minutes, long enough to get a couple of pictures taken to prove they went, grab a glass of free lukewarm champagne, and shamelessly criticise all the bad art before leaving to head out to dinner in their favourite Thai restaurant through China town, just off Shaftesbury Avenue. She had relented until Benedict had picked it, it was a luxuriously famous all you can eat Thai buffet, and if you could eat more than 5kg of food, you got your picture taken and put on the ‘wall of fame’ and also got to take home a goody bag – of takeaway food. That was if your stomach didn’t implode first. She had begged and begged until a reluctant Benedict had agreed he would go, smiling, he said he couldn’t deny her when she was so happy, despite the fact her smile was torturing him as he wanted to but simply couldn’t kiss it away from her. So he had let himself be dragged along on an evening out with her. Maybe he would pluck up the courage to tell her? But he highly doubted that. Anyway, he left at 1 to go home and do a few chores before he showered and changed to go to hers later, she told him that the invite was, ‘smart/formal’ so part of him was dreading what nice dress she would torture him with by dressing up in.

 

So when seven o’clock rolled around, Benedict let himself into her place, through how many times had she regretted giving him or Tom their own keys? When wake up calls for jogging and surprises came at 4am, and ten to seven on Saturday mornings, that’s when. He slipped in through the front door, seeing all the lights on downstairs in her study, through the little library hall opposite the door, and the large kitchen on his left, and the equally as spacious living room on his right. Libby, unlike him and Tom, was blessed by being born into a large family, which meant she had plenty of uncles and aunts and distant cousins who were all close to the family. And they all weren’t poor either, Her parents lived in a stately home in Oxford, and, as a gift for her graduating University when she was 21, her Uncle Terry, (whose husband insisted everyone call him Aunt Sam.) simply gave to her their old house in Chelsea, a Converted old fire station. Terry insisted she be given it, as it used to be his, and all she need do was pay electric and water bills. Terry and Aunt Sam lived in a large house in Spain, which they also insisted she could stay at if she ever visited, Just North of Minorca. They were married out there three years ago, Ben and Tom headed over for the wedding with her. The wedding was exquisite, except for Sam asking why he was marrying a man with a beer belly gut and who snored when she had two fine, prime morsels of men for him to pick at. He remembered how Aunt Sam was quite taken with Tom, and kept pinching his ass whenever his back was turned. So, that was why and how Libby had acquired a large house in the expensive burrow of Chelsea, which he adored, as every inch was decorated to her taste, classy yet bright and often wacky. It took her close to five years to complete it, after working separately at about six jobs all at once to earn enough money to pay off her Uni debts, (a part time model, a florist, a waitress, a photographer, freelance artist, and a apprentice in a bakery) and publish her book and have enough left over to decorate her house, that she, still to this day, hadn’t finished. Having three out of the four spare rooms to get through. But he loved her place, it had ample enough space for her, she had a library slash study for her workplace – as a freelance illustrator, writer and author she often worked from home – two large garages off the back for her artist studio, a small garden just off the side of her kitchen. She knew she was lucky to have it, and worked hard for everything she earned. So her writing and her art and any other of her work deserved all the hype it got, and she had quite a neat little sum of money behind her, nowhere near as rich as Ben or Tom now, but enough to provide handsomely for herself. She was a hard worker, and was now reaping the benefits of being completely independent, not having accepted a single penny from her parent’s large wealth, not for the sake of pride, she just preferred to work for what she had. And as she had a house taken care of, she threw herself headfirst into working. It was that aspect of her personality that Ben both adored and envied, she was a puzzle solver, she could hold her own and never let life scare her. She was sought out for her talents, be it art, or writing, she had even written screenplays for films a few times, and done freelance journalism, even writing articles for leading magazines and newspapers. She really had done it all and lived a thousand lives. Ben and Tom wondered at times if she wasn’t a real life wonder woman. Or indeed if there was any job she hadn’t taken, or any man who hadn’t fallen at her feet, madly in love with her. Unfortunately, Ben feared he now belonged to the latter of those categories….

 

He called out her name to no reply, able to hear the slight sway of Jazz music thrum from upstairs, he hauled himself up the creaky flight of spiral stairs and walked along her landing, coming to a stop at her bathroom, as that was where the music was coming from and the air around the pulled too door was hot and scented of Lavender, and as he heard water sloshing around from inside the room, his horrors were confirmed.

 

_Good god she’s in the bath…_

His mind was being completely evil and unfair to him, tying to sidestep how she would look when she was hot, flushed from the heat, wet and naked. He had to bite his lip and take a very deep breath lest he march in there, rip her out the bath, sit her perky ass on the edge of it, slowly spread her wet legs apart with his hands and lean down to-

Oh god he couldn’t even finish that dirty thought or he’d have to run home for a cold shower to douse his filthy mind.

 

“Ben?” She called from inside the room, having heard his cry of her name and his shoes clack up the stairs. She called his name softly and encouragingly over the soothing voice of Julie London singing for someone to cry her a river, the sexy music not helping to get him out of his _mood._

He found his voice, but it came out in a raspy strained cry.

 

“I’ll uh, wait downstairs for you.” He spoke through the opened door.

 

“Don’t be silly, get in here.” She cooed, shifting around as he heard water slop around.

 

“Um, Libby… I don’t….” he began, but, the stubborn mare she was, cut her off.

 

“Benedict, I used a whole bottle of bubble bath, you’re not going to see a thing, and I’m buried under six feet of foam here…”

 

She assured him in a stern voice. Which did but a little to easing out his tense stance.

 

“Ok…” he breathed softly, to steel himself, pushing the door aside and walking in. She had the mood lighting on, and a few candles were lit and placed about the place, on the large window sills and on holders as he saw his friends head and toes appear out from beneath the blanket of thick white bubbles. The room was filled to the brim with the scent of heavenly lavender, and that shampoo she always used. The scent alone would be enough to kill him. The sight of her was even more as glorious…

 

She had already washed her hair, but had scooped the wet red curls up into a hair clip as she… _he gulped_ …..washed. He tried hard not to picture her petite hands running over her wet, soapy skin, slicking down over her perfect breasts and down her naked stomach to what he could only imagine what heavenly place that rested between her thighs… he blinked a few times in rapid succession to clear the image of a wet soapy and naked Libby from his head. Best avoid thinking about her in such a way when he was conscious, or in her company at least…

 

She was sat up in the tub, but, luckily for him the bubbles she spoke of covered her wet naked form. And her hands were wrapped around a large mug of tea that she had reached over to the windowsill near the lip of the bath against the wall. She smiled wide when she saw him, and her cheeks, which were reddened from the heat of the bath, sported the fetching little dimples that appeared whenever she smiled widely, also showing off her straight pearly teeth between her luscious rose bud coloured lips.

 

“Ben, you don’t need to loiter by the door, I’m a woman, not a nuclear weapon of mass destruction, you can come in...” she laughed, placing her tea back down.

 

Benedict swallowed, embarrassed for having lingered for so long, pacing to a respectable distance away from the bath, and sat himself down on the closed toilet lid, which was adjacent to her sat in the bath. Thankfully, the long length of her partially eclipsed under the water by the scented foam.

 

“..Besides.” She continued “… You’ve seen me undressed on more than one occasion, accidental glances in Uni and all that, and you came with me to get my first tattoo, all those years ago….” She smiled.

 

Ben chuckled in memory of it.

 

“I remember you having to hold _my_ hand instead of the other way around… You brought me along for comfort and support, and as I recall I was the one who ended up crying…” He chuckled.

 

“Oh, my god I remember that…” Libby rolled her eyes, scrubbing a sponge up and down her upper arm. Before squeezing the water out.

 

Benedict exhaled, smiling and relaxing a bit as he loosened his tie. Recently, with him feeling the way he felt, he would be all tense and stiff around her, and then she smiled, or spoke, or made him laugh, and all of the tension just drained from his shoulders. And that boiling simmering heat started low in his stomach like a herd of butterfly’s had settled there, making him giddy and hard willed to leave her presence.

 

“I remember at Uni when you would go in the bath, I would sit opposite you, smoking a joint and eating ice cream while you were in the tub…” Ben smiled wickedly, eyes gleaming as he brushed his fingers across his lips as they both escalated into heavy laughter.

 

“Oh we were such rebels back then.” Libby laughed, “Young and juvenile …”

 

“Speak for yourself, we’re still young and juvenile, plenty of youthful years left…” Ben smiled, it was that fantastic smile of his that creased his cheeks and the corner of his eyes.

 

“Hate to tell you, Ben, I think we both grew old when we our heads were turned….” Libby beamed.

 

“Come on, you’re not telling me that when you’ve met someone you truly can’t wait to spend time with, you can’t seem to stop smiling and everything seems better when they’re there, every joke they tell you is hilarious, and every time you touch your skin’s set alight and you just want to curl up in them and never leave…You’d rearrange the entire world just to make then happy” His eyes having dropped to the floor as he spoke, now flickered up to Libby and she nearly gasped as they were so full of love and heavy with dark blue intent.

 

“You can’t tell me that when that happens to you, that you don’t feel like a giddy adolescent all over again? You may as well be 16 and kissing on the doorstep, holding hands, and snogging the hours away…” he chuckled.

 

Libby smiled intently at his words that seemed to bubble up out of the husky part of his vocal chords. Sounding so sincere and guarded that it would have been impossible to mistake them for careless ramblings.

 

“You soppy git..” Libby smiled as her eyes glowed in warmth back at him, Ben’s hand went to the back of his neck to run across his skin.

 

He chuckled softly, “Yeah. So they tell me…”

 

“Now, I know I said I’m not a weapon of mass destruction, but I’m beginning to prune, and, I think you will begin to see me that way if you stay in the room to witness me getting out…” she smiled, hands braced on either side of the tub, ready to spring out.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you let me find out for myself?” Ben purred, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Libby tilted her head with a stern look. Which made Ben smile all the more.

 

“Benedict Cumberbatch, I will not hesitate to ring your mother…” She promised evilly, knowing she had him beat.

 

“Oh, you do play _dirty_ , Turner...”

 

He winked, throwing a towel at her face, which splattered bubbles everywhere, she laughed as he smiled over his shoulder and walked out of the bathroom.

 

“Go get a bottle of red open, you sly old pervert!” Libby called after him.

 

 

Half an hour later, and Ben could safely say he was slowly getting drunker and drunker, being on his second glass of red wine. Just so the familiar loosening of his mind and body drifted gently through his system. He was leant over her kitchen counter with his forearms braced on the wooden surface, leaning over a Cosmo and quite happily reading about this month’s hottest sex positions. When he heard the soft padding of bare feet clatter down her metal spiral staircase.

 

Not a second later he was rewarded by the sight of his friend bustling into the kitchen doorway with her black heels in hand. And her clutch bag in the other.

 

He silently took in the sight of her dress. It was a shirt little black number, which was form fitting and left none of her splendid curves to his imagination. It was quite an unusual pattern, the back and front dipping down low with nude mesh covering her chest and the low back, and black flowers sprawled all around her arms, neck and shoulders, so it looked, from a distance like the dress was growing and moulding onto her bare skin. He rather liked it actually, especially when she teamed it with a pair of lethally high black high heels, with devilish looking red soles. Rachel had enough pairs of them for him to know they were Louboutins when he saw them. But he rather favoured they did Libby’s slender and shapely legs more favours than Rachel, whose legs were, nice, but thin and too muscly and toned up looking from the hours she spent at the gym, Libby had that ever present and carefree glow of little exercise and a body that was toned up by exercise routines that were far and few between, and that alone. As she swept her hair out of her face to slide on a shoe, he saw little teardrop black crystals hanging from her perfect, soft little ears as her hair was tucked behind it, the shimmering and tousled curtain of red hair held back. She had elected to let her hair down tonight, the assortment of curls arranged in a messy sexy way. Gleaming red under the lights of her kitchen. She smiled up at him as she shifted to the other shoe. He saw her makeup was kept strikingly simple, just a sweep of eyeliner and mascara, and a faint hint of blush on her perfect porcelain skin.

 

“Ready?” she offered, finding balance in her legs and striding forwards to take a large sip out of his wineglass. Standing it down as she looked over, tilting her head to read the article.

 

“What, no DM’s this evening?” he glanced down her legs and back up again with a light smile.

 

“I am behaving myself, formal slash casual means, unfortunately for the state of the nerves in my poor feet, dangerous heels, rather than my beloved old Docs.” She grumbled.

 

“But it’s a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, kind of invite…” hesitated. “They probably haven’t heard of you, you could get away with your beloved battered old boots…” He smiled, reasonably.

 

“Careful lest you lead me astray, Batch…” she winked, smiling, as she pulled on her black coat. Folding her hair out the back of her collar.

 

He smiled, placing the stopper on the open wine bottle.

 

“So…” she purred, beaming with an outrageously large and perfect smile.

 

She nodded with her chin to the open magazine page.

 

“Which one, is, the hottest this month?”

 

“Number 14, apparently…”

 

Libby turned her head to look. And her eyes widened before her brows creased.

 

“Well, he could strain something doing that…” she spoke, tilting her head more as she spoke.

 

“And, you’re my voice of female reason here, tell me she doesn’t look the least bit comfortable with the way he’s holding her on number 10?” he pointed, seeing her wince.

 

“I pray somewhere there is an A&E nurse with some grand stories to tell of all the ways in which number 10 is dangerously ambitious and not even a little bit safe…” she joked, to which Ben chuckled.

 

“Well. Some people in this world get off from being tied to crosses and whipped with cat o’ nine tails. I think the majority of those kinds of people enjoy number 10 on a daily basis.” Benedict smiled.

 

“Shall we go? We have a grand evening ahead of confusing art, bad catered food and warm champagne…”

 

“MN. Can’t wait…”

 

Ben smiled, unenthusiastically, as she switched off the lights and they headed out the door together.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Classy Birds, Sex gods, and Dinner...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger seems to be heavily lingering on the horizon no more, Benedict makes a nasty and painful realisation, and Libby proves how friendship prevails over all....

 

“Modern Impressionist? Speculating about….”

 

Benedict started as they both stood side by side staring at a rather bland piece of art. So bland in fact that all it was, was a white rectangular canvas, which sported the words ‘Fuck You’ scrawled across the white background, which had then been slashed into with a knife, so jagged cuts ran all the way through the writing.

 

“Oh please…” Libby mumbled blithely “That’s a break up, or a break down on a canvas…I can’t decide which…” she admitted in a hushed voice.

 

They had wormed their way into the packed gallery off Phanton Street, to a large industrial warehouse, which was packed with roving and artsy crowds of people, and the music was soft, yet thumping and insistent, and the gallery was – eccentric to say the least – and sprawled across damp looking grey concrete walls, the place was as echoing and as hot as the still air in an underground car park. The noise and chatter seemed to bubble up to the dark harshly lit ceiling. There were weird art pieces crowded around odd places in the room, pushed up right into corners, or out in the open in the middle of all the space. However, they both knew it would be a touch abnormal, how many modern art galleries were named, ‘Le Abattoir’?

 

They levelled a shifty and unsure glance towards each other, before moving onwards to the next piece of art, cringing with anticipation, and sipping idly on the – as they correctly guessed – warm champagne, and Libby saw a shifty looking plate of unsafe prawn puffs being circulated around not long ago. Which, so far meant that three out of their three estimations were correct, all they needed now was the uptight kind of bizarrely unstable basket-case artist to approach them and ask what they thought… That was what usually happened at these kinds of things. The artist would circulate unknown through the crowds and listen to how their art was responded too, and if any idiot with a wallet deep enough, would shell out for their mental breakdown that now hung on the wall for all to see, cloaked under the pretence of the name ‘art’. Libby loved art, and that was no secret. She loved creating it, and admiring it, she just happened to prefer the type of art that could move you to emotion, paintings that had illicit stories behind them, aswell as talent. Not just two seconds of planning and before thought, and a ridiculous price tag that made your eyes water. Modern art remained a blood pressure raising mystery to her.

 

She and Benedict moved – briskly throughout the room – giving cursory glances to a few even more confusing paintings, and one or two, vexing, sculptures. Libby began to wonder if they didn’t just pick up people straight from bars who were drinking to forget break ups, as there came another souvenir of a nastily ended relationship, it was in the form of a sculpture this time, a large clay eyesore which had been attempted to be fashioned into the shape of a pig, with the word’s ‘ugly, worthless, lying, and son of a whore’ blasted across it in spray paint. Benedict looked nearly scared by the effigy. Standing a measurable distance away from it.

 

“Where do they find these idio- _Artist’s_ from?” Ben wondered aloud, watching over his shoulder, lest he offend a wandering artist nearby.

 

“Nice Save…” Libby murmured under her breath. “And, I don’t know. The local boozer I guess? Just blindly rush in and ask if anyone’s recently split from a partner, if so, grab them, run and lock them up in a room for 24 hours with a lump of clay and a spray can, and see what the end result is when they’re let out in the morning…”

 

Libby joked, as they walked away from the giant pig cussing statue, of which the nametag read simply; ‘Brian’ wandering over to the stairs that led down to a basement, thankfully, though, where the exit was located. Benedict chuckled at her rant.

 

“I think you’re onto something there, you could write an article on it, named ‘the secret that lies behind the creation of modern art’” he suggested with a chuckle.

 

“Well…” she moaned tersely, placing her warm flute down on a passing tray. Rolling her eyes in anger and exasperation as she did.

 

“You’d make a killing, oh, and also never remind me to part ways with you…” Benedict motioned, pointing at her with a worried look on his face.

 

“Why?” she explored, steering clear of another break up catastrophe that they walked past, a box of eviscerated belongings, labelled; ‘That Bitch’s Shit.’ Libby was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t just a place where break ups came to air, before dying a violent screaming death.

 

“Because, if I ever end it, I’m afraid the label on the pig upstairs with curse words written across it, shall read ‘Benedict’” he smiled, making her smile.

 

“No, my darling. It would be an _Otter_ , with cuss words written on it.”

 

She corrected him, cheekily, feeling him snidely jab her in the ribs from behind with his elbow as they started down the large concrete stairs. They had to jostle past many people coming up the stairs, pressing her and Ben to the banister as they walked. Which meant as they descended, they were on display for all the inhabitants of the crowded room to see. Libby happened to walk down first, and her blue eyes scanned across the crowds, looking at all the pieces of art that surrounded the walls, colourful pieces as opposed to the jaded and dark melancholy reminders of old break ups that littered the walls upstairs. As she looked, she hadn’t meant too, but her eyes caught a pair of ice blue irises that locked to hers from across the room. Looking down to break the eye contact, she looked again three steps later to find the eyes were still locked on her.

 

The hot ice eyes were framed by a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, the nerdy looking kind that appeared retro and old school geek kind. Those eyes were attached to an angular face and a strong curving jaw, with edgy razor sharp cheekbones, aswell as a face that was fairly tanned, but not embarrassingly tangoed. It spoke of recently having been kissed by the sun. But as the man’s hair was the deepest darkest shade of jet black, she couldn’t tell if the tan was the cause of a holiday or just a long suffering trait. His head tilted as he smiled at her, showing straight white teeth and a gorgeous set of lips that curved into a dangerously handsome smile. One powerful enough to bring down any woman, and the confidence behind it told her that the bearer of that smile knew just exactly what it was capable of doing to the opposite sex. And speaking of sex, His body practically radiated it, lean, tall, around Tom’s height she would guess, a comfy 6ft four, which would practically tower over her 5ft nine, but, as said lean body possessed a wiry and well-muscled bulky build under the stretch of a thin forest green jumper, and legs that the length of which could put a barstool to shame, Libby rather favoured that sex was the only language the man’s body spoke of.

 

She tore her eyes away, looking demurely down after returning the stranger’s small smile. Walking around the curve of the stairs as the hot ice sex god was once again lost to the crowds that busily padded out the room. Suddenly her lungs felt too big for her chest, and the blood that was raring through her veins felt far too hot and far too thick. She bit her lip as her stomach twisted and turned like a rag that was having oil squeezed from it. She, thankfully, managed to regain her leg strength to walk past, where she estimated, the stranger would be in the crowd, turning to look over her shoulder and seeing Ben smile quickly as he shuffled behind her, and they walked to the corner to survey a colourful and bright orange canvas.

 

Libby’s mind was somewhat thrown off by the handsome stranger who practically oozed a shagging vibe at her vigorously with one sharp, pointed look. She had to take a few deep breaths to calm the edgy toppling feeling that had taken up residence in her stomach as a result of said eye fucking. Ben noticed her go red and look a bit withdrawn. He tilted his head at her as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

 

“You alright? You look like you’re about to faint, and you needn’t stick around on my uncultured account, I’ve had enough brutal art as it is, and I’m starving…” He jostled, lovingly stroking her hip as he stood by her side.

 

Libby laughed, chuckling softly. “No, I’m fine, just a bit hot is all… I think I’ll sit down for a moment.” She smiled, patting him on the upper arm as she stood, twisting her head to see large slabs of leather sofa’s placed on the far side of the room. Which some couples were comfortably sat on.

 

“Alright… Well, I’ve, ugh, had enough of the arty wreckages of break ups for one day, I think I need some air…” he cleared his throat. Gesturing to the large panel of a glass door that led out onto the quiet street.

 

Libby speared him an unimpressed look complete with the twitching of one brow. She saw the packet that padded out his breast pocket earlier. She was no fool.

 

Ben’s expression turned sheepish at seeing that familiar tug of her eyebrow.

 

“Oh alright. Busted, I’ll admit. I’m gasping. But, I’m down to five a day now, I’m getting better…” He persuaded, in a whiny voice, with the remnants of puppy dog eyes beginning to widen his blue eyes, and his lips curling into a put on sad face.

 

She smiled, laughing him off with a wave of her hand.

 

“Go, Go smoke…”

 

She relented, he sent her a wink and a cheeky but fleeting kiss on the forehead before he was snatched away into the crowds. She shook her head after him, smiling. Heading for the comfort of the sofa, these heels were slowly crushing her feet, she was sure of it.

 

She clacked her way over, unfortunately a rushing waiter didn’t quite see her out of the corner of his eye, and as a result, she collided into him, sending a couple of half empty champagne glasses crashing down her thigh, spilling the warming drink down her legs and onto her feet, with an almighty crash, and the heavy and pressing feeling of more than a few pairs of eyes weighing down on her now, due to the loud clatter, she stooped down and managed to catch the falling glasses, remaining intact as she caught them before they smashed on the floor. The waiter, clearly a newbie and afraid of whatever strict harpy was the head of catering, looked round to her with wide, fear blown eyes and a gaping mouth. He had shaggy brown shoulder length hair, and deep brown eyes the same colour as his chocolate hued hair. He wore a traditional white shirt and bowtie that every waiter wore.

 

“Oh my goodness, Oh my, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you, I’m so…” his hand clasped over his mouth as she handed him back the glasses, her laugh halting his second apology.

 

“Really, it’s no problem, I’m fine. I was, a little hot actually, my legs needed a good dousing, thank you.”

She winked, handing him back the glasses as he blushed red, and accepted the glasses from her hands. Going red at her sly wink, he didn’t look a day over nineteen.

 

“Again, I’m sorry.” He blurted “My boss is going to have my head!” He ran a stressed hand through his hair. The tray and glasses in the other.

 

“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t, seriously, its fine. Just scurry away and and pretend it never happened!” she suggested.

 

“Wow. Your nice.” He blurted out, obviously without a thought, to which he tried to recover with a splutter. “Well, I ugh, I didn’t mean that, you…”

 

She placed a gentle comforting hand on his shoulder, smiling before she moved off through the crowds. Adoring his sweetness and stumbled apologies. But now she had to find a tissue from somewhere as her entire left leg, thigh and side of her chest was drenched. She shrugged off her jacket as she sat down on the edge of an empty sofa, scrubbing at her dress in a half ass attempt to dry it, her feet glad for a reprieve from the painful pinching of her heels.

 

Suddenly, she found a crisp clean handkerchief pressed under her nose, tangled in dexterous and tanned fingers, and as she looked up, her eyes ran along the length of a green jumper glad arm.

 

Her eyes slid up to the strangers face, and she found herself relieved to be sitting down. As he stomach did a few fancy somersaults and her breath exited her lungs swiftly in a single exhaled breath. This was the man who she had locked eyes with when walking down the stairs.

 

She was sure her mouth gaped at her brains attempt to administer speech, but nothing came out.

 

“I was going to lead with the line; ‘let’s get you out of those wet clothes’ but if you think about that one in too much context, it does sound a bit,…” he trailed off, blue eyes sparkling like ice chips soaked in mirth.

 

“Suspicious? Sinister?” Libby finished.

 

“I was going to say presumptuous, but yes, let’s go with suspicious. I should probably introduce myself first before I go as far to insinuate that I have a wish to get you out of your clothes…” he winced, brow furrowing down to his glasses.

 

Libby smiled, laughing as he sat down next to her and she accepted the handkerchief that smelled like Polo Ralph Lauren cologne. That was before he held out a large, tanned hand to her.

 

“Jasper O’Donoghue…” he introduced, she smiled and slid her hand into his, the bunched up handkerchief scrunched in her palm.

 

“Libby Turner.” She smiled.

 

“I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but I swear I’ve heard your name before…” she narrowed her eyes as his name rang a bell.

 

He smiled, a handsome creasing smirk, flattered that his name had some forbearance in her mind.

 

“I write a weekly article for the telegraph… I’m a book critic.” He explained.

 

“Agh. Well, may I thank you, you’ve steered me towards some great books in the past.”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “I sense a ‘but’ coming…”

 

“No!” she promised “No Buts!” she insisted shaking her head.

 

Jasper lazily twitched a brow.

 

“But…” she started. “I didn’t enjoy the kite runner as much as you insisted I would. You said harrowing. But, I say, demented.” She explained. And it seems like Jasper was a man who enjoyed a good bicker.

 

He smiled widely.

 

“Well, seeing as you are such a fan of my critiques, I suggest we argue passionately about it over dinner one night… that is….. If unless, I’m chasing after a lost cause, and you are, in fact, Dating Benedict Cumberbatch…”

 

He motioned to Ben, who could seen across the room, stood outside in the street, slowly savouring a cigarette, and puffing away into the hot night air.

 

Libby smiled.

 

“Well. You’ll be glad to hear, I am not a lost cause, nice label by the way…” she congratulated, “Benedict is my dearest old friend, I dragged him along tonight.”

 

“…And I can imagine he found it to be quite a treat…” Jasper whispered in a low voice, leaning over to her and rumbling his voice low in her ear sarcastically.

 

“Not the words he used. I believe, brutal, asylum and confusing were tossed around quite a fair bit though….” She teased, drying the bare skin of her leg with Jasper’s offered hankie. He tried not to watch the movement with hungry eyes as she did.

 

“Tell me, have you got to ’That Bitch’s Shit’ yet? Or Brian?” she asked curiously.

 

Jasper looked pained. “No. Neither, I dread to say…”

 

“Oh in that case, you’re in for quite a pleasant suprise...” She winked. He looked at her with the lingering sense she was lying, teasing him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From outside, Ben had nearly finished his cigarette, stood alone in the cold, street lit night air. He contemplated going back in for Libby, when he turned and saw a sight that made his stomach drop to his polished shoes and shatter as if it were encased in ice.

 

Libby was sat on the sofa, as she said she would, but he wasn’t expecting her to have male company. And damned handsome male company at that, a tall stretch of 6ft four or more, with a deadly gorgeous smile, black hair, and blue eyes that he couldn’t pry off Libby. She was smiling and appearing to laugh with him, and by the way his eyes flickered down to her thigh as she rubbed there with a tissue, he doubted he was there to ask her questions about art.

 

Ben frowned, stubbing out his cigarette, suddenly not hankering after it anymore, and not feeling hungry for Thai food. He got a sickening sucker punch to the gut of realisation that this is what his life would be like if he didn’t tell her, stood watching men flirt with her, and then going on to date her, all whilst he could do nothing but look on in sickening love as he was a coward, and far too afraid to tell her how he really felt. He didn’t want 16 years of friendship to shatter, the last thing he wanted to do was loose her, so, he was confided not to act, and suffer in silence if he wanted to keep the glorious redhead in his life.

 

And god, no one told him how much that would hurt him…

 

He swallowed, yanking his phone out of his pocket, and finding her contact name and firing off a text. Feeling very ready to catch a cab and head home to his dark flat. It looked like the evening ahead of him, would involve slumping on his sofa in the dark and imbibing stupid amounts of whiskey in an attempt to drown out the pain. Turning back into the introvert he was all those months ago after Rachel left him. Except this time, it would be all due to a different woman. One he genuinely loved, from the very bottom of his heart. And – if he had a soul – from the bottom of that too.

 

He fired off the text and pressed send. Placing his iPhone back in his pocket and cursing the complexity of sexual politics. Lighting up again as he walked away into the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Libby looked down to her clutch, laughing at Jasper as she pulled out her phone and read the message on the screen.

 

 

 

 

**_You’re obviously having a good time. Tell me who the yummy looking guy in green is tomorrow, I’m knackered, gonna grab a cab and head home, but you have a good night Libs…_ **

****

**_B_ **

**_X_ **

 

 

 

 

 

She bit the inside of her lip, looking out the door to see that Benedict had, in fact, gone. She swivelled on the sofa to face Jasper.

 

“Hate to cut this short, but, I think I’ve had my fill of viciously brutal break up art for one day…”

 

She explained, standing on painful throbbing feet which she was choosing to ignore, focusing all her energy on the sexy man in front of her instead.

 

Jasper smiled a sexily enchanting smile, and Libby was willing to believe all of his smiles could do that.

 

“Well, here’s my number, the mobile is on the reverse, and it’s my personal number. If you want to schedule a meeting through my assistant, please feel free, but, I do rather take pleasure in talking directly down the phone to very beautiful women….” He purred smoothly.

 

Libby accepted the small square card from his hand. Tucking it between her fingers as she smiled down at him.

 

“Or, unless you don’t want dinner, perhaps a good long argument over a bottle of wine at my place. I’m not picky, either one will do.” He winked. “But I must admit, I rather enjoy having a strong female personality and an untameable feisty redhead to argue with...” He flirted.

 

Libby smiled, and Jasper was struck and paralysed by just how beautiful her smile was.

 

“Untameable? Hmm. I don’t know about that. I think you’ll find, Mr O’Donoghue that alike most strong willed women, I have an absolute fetish for being told what to do…” She purred. Turning to walk away. But not before handing him back his, now somewhat damp, hankie. Which he took, still stunned by her words so he wasn’t capable of saying anything else.

 

“Goodbye Jasper.” she smiled, turning and sauntering off.

 

The captivated man could only smile after her, he found that watching her walk away was just as pleasant as talking to her. She was curvy and full of spirit. Heels clacking as she walked away.

 

“You will call me, won’t you?” He questioned cheekily as she walked off.

 

She turned and smiled over her shoulder, making an unsure and flirtascious ”Mmmmnnn” sound teamed with sexy look just before she grinned and slid out of the large glass door and out of his sight.

 

Jasper bit his lip, watching after the empty doorframe. What a woman…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Benedict was a good few hundred yards away when he heard a familiar friendly voice call his name.

 

“Oi, Batch! You better not be trying to do a runner on me!!” Libby called after him. Heels clicking in rapid succession as she jogged after him.

 

He stopped and turned, throwing his burning cigarette butt to the ground and stamping it out. She came to a slow stop behind him, and his face creased in a confused smile.

 

“I thought Mr Tall dark and handsome had gotten Lucky tonight?” He gestured back to the gallery just down the road, referring to Jasper.

 

She smiled widely at him. Her eyes glinted like two windows shining in the dark across to him. The twin drops of molten blue twinkling with mischief and friendliness back at him.

 

“Yes. _You_ have...” she complimented, linking her arms in his, and pulling him along as they walked in the direction of the restaurant they intended to eat at.

 

Benedict shot her a surprised and humbled look, complete with a curved smile.

 

“What’s that face for?” she laughed, pulling him close as they walked, looking ahead.

 

“Nothing, I just assumed you would…”

 

“What? Spend two minutes chatting before slinking off to the cloakroom or the back alley for a hot shag? Unlikely.”

 

Benedict laughed at her.

 

“I figured you’d want to stay and chat a bit…” he explained.

 

She daggered him with a kind look that he knew meant he should listen.

 

“You know me Ben. I’m a classy bird, ‘Chicks before Dicks’ and all that, or in my case. ‘Ben before Men’” she joked.

 

He laughed, putting an arm around her back as she linked hers around his waist, under the warmth of his jacket.

 

“That’s very loyal of you…” He chuckled. Leaning over to place a kiss on her forehead, suddenly his night had gotten a whole lot better.

 

“Well. I’ll always have always be plenty of men coming and going in my life…” She started.

 

“ _Floozy tart…_ ”

 

Ben joked under his breath, earning a mocking and not so hard punch in the stomach from her.

 

“But what I don’t have, however, is plenty of Benedict Cumberbatch’s…”

 

She finished as they bounded quickly over a road to avoid traffic. The both of them still wrapped in each other’s arms.

 

Ben turned to her then, and smiled. And she did the same.

 

Chick’s before dicks indeed…. Or, in his case. ‘Bros before hoes’

 

They both walked off into the cold London night. Arm in arm. And rivalled in content happiness that they had each other no matter what… or indeed, whom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Libby wasnt aware of, Was that as she started seeing more and more of Jasper in the following weeks. That one night. At about one in the morning.... A dozy, but still awake Tom was awoken by a knock at his door, Which turned out to be Ben. Clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels that Tom once gave him as a gift proceeding the events of the Rachel break up. And Tom winced and sighed as he saw that bottle. 

"Im ready to start bitching about women now." 

Ben murmured miserably. Looking tired, pained and utterly done in. 

"Italians?" 

Tom asked. Moving the door to let his friend in. 

Ben shook his head glumly. 

 

"Book Critics..." He grumbled.


End file.
